


Persnickety In The Underworld

by Warp5Complex_Archivist



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-03-05
Updated: 2006-03-05
Packaged: 2018-08-16 00:50:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8080267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Warp5Complex_Archivist/pseuds/Warp5Complex_Archivist
Summary: The Speakers return! Cheetah brings fruit, for Malcolm. (04/06/2003)





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Kylie Lee, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Warp 5 Complex](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Warp_5_Complex), the software of which ceased to be maintained and created a security hazard. To make future maintenance and archive growth easier, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but I may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Warp 5 Complex collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/Warp5Complex).

  
Author's notes: Many thanks to the superlative Squeaky for the super-quick beta so I could get this posted in time for Kathleen (Mahlia Belonn)'s birthday. I know what it's like to be away from family on your b-day, so I wanted to answer her request. :-)  


* * *

"It's definitely the Speakers, Captain," Ensign Hoshi Sato said, nodding to herself as she listened to the translated message. She turned to look at her Captain with a worried expression, "It's a distress call."

"Speakers," Captain Jonathan Archer said. "Oh boy." He gestured at Hoshi's consol. "Let's hear it."

Hoshi hit a key, and the message played out into the air of the bridge:

"Speakers ask for Help from Glorious Same-Same. Most Excellent Starjoy is ill with much Hurting and Toothbites. Polite request?"

Jon turned to Commander Charles 'Trip' Tucker III, who was standing next to Lieutenant Malcolm Reed at the tactical station. "Starjoy—that's their word for 'engine,' right?"

Trip nodded. "Yeah," he said, "they're havin' engine trouble again." He sighed, ran his fingers through his hair. "I'm sure not lookin' forward to goin' back over there."

Malcolm shuddered visibly, looked at Hoshi with an expression of faint hope in his gray-blue eyes. "You don't suppose this could be another one of their linguistic quests, could it? Where they feign engine problems to make first contact?"

"I don't think so," Hoshi said, "they're using a broader-spectrum frequency, and the message is definitely more urgent."

"That can't be good," Travis Mayweather said from his position at helm. "Are they really in trouble?"

"Let's find out," Jon said. "Hoshi, open a channel."

"Aye aye sir," Hoshi said, pressing buttons. "Whenever you're ready, captain."

"Glorious Same-Same!" blasted over the bridge comm. before Jon could even open his mouth. "It is most forever joy-known Non-Barbarians! Love and Joy with you! The viewscreen was filled with the purple- colored face of one of the Speakers: a humanoid resembling a primate, with thick blue fur and huge, shining black eyes. The alien was using sign language, gesturing quickly out of excitement. There was a slight lag as the _Enterprise_ 's UT translated it into spoken words.

"Hey," Trip said from the back of the bridge, "is that Cheetah?" He made the gesture the crew had learned for this particular Speaker's name the last time they were on his ship.

"I think so," Travis answered him, not taking his eyes from the screen, "but they all look kind of alike."

"It is," T'Pol said smoothly from her seat at the science station, at the same time the alien on the screen began to nod vigorously by fluttering his six fingers. At Jon's look she merely raised an eyebrow. "I have an above-average memory for faces."

"Joy-Love Softhair and Prettysmell!" Cheetah—it was definitely Cheetah—started signing so quickly his gestures blurred; the translation lag increased until the UT began to stutter. "You came to help, Glorious Same-Same? Heal Starjoy? Much Longdays have past in Sadwaiting."

"Of course we'll be pleased to do whatever we can to help you, Cheetah," Jon answered. "Is your crew all right? Do you need medical help?"

There was a pause while Cheetah bent his head to read the translation as it came up in his written language, then he looked back at the screen, giving his typically horrible approximation of a human smile. Simultaneously, he made the Speaker sign for negation. "All are Joyhealthy, polite Thanks and Love, but Starjoy has much Illness and Toothbites. Polite request Prettysmell come fix? Softhair come?"

Jon was visibly fighting to keep his face respectfully serious. "That shouldn't be a problem. We'll dock up with your ship in a few minutes, and I'll send them right over."

Cheetah's hands fluttered like maddened butterflies. "Polite Thanks and Love! Much Joy! Joyous Speakers Same-Same will bring Currency for joyous Transaction. Soontime!"

Cheetah's connection blinked off when Jon was halfway through his 'we'll see you in a few minutes.' He turned to Malcolm and Trip, shaking his head and grinning. Malcolm was blushing furiously, though he was apparently totally focused on his consol. Trip just covered his eyes with his hands.

"Okay," Jon said, "which one of you is Softhair, and which one is Prettysmell?"

There was a long pause.

"I'm Softhair, sir," Malcolm mumbled.

Hoshi turned her chair around to face Trip and Malcolm, eyes wide and innocent. "Are you really, lieutenant?" She asked, "Can I touch your hair to see?"

Malcolm glared at her. Hoshi just giggled.

"Hoshi, leave Softhair alone," Jon said. He turned back to Trip, his grin pure evil. "So, Trip, I guess that would make you..."

"Don't, Cap'n," Trip groaned, hands still over his eyes, "please don't make me say it."

"Oh, I don't know, Trip," Jon said in mock contemplation, "considering the general state of your quarters, I'd take 'Prettysmell' as a compliment."

Travis was almost choking, he was trying so hard not to laugh as he steered _Enterprise_ towards the Speakers' ship. Hoshi was still giggling madly. Even Malcolm, who was still blushing, crooked his mouth up in a smile.

"I hate y'all," Trip said. He glowered at all of them, sending Hoshi into further fits of giggles. "Y'all know you're gonna pay for this."

"Maybe later," Jon said, "at the moment you need to help Softhair fix the Speakers' engine."

* * *

"Trip," Jon said, staring at the two, huge plastic cases, "what is all this fruit doing in the corridor?"

"Oh, that," Trip said. He was sitting next to Cheetah, both of them leaning against the bulkhead wall. They were in the corridor next to the joined airlocks of _Enterprise_ and the Speakers' ship, taking a break from working on the aliens' engine. It was much cooler on _Enterprise_ , something which didn't seem to bother Cheetah in the least, but that the humans truly appreciated. Trip rubbed his face and hair with the towel Jon had brought, then dropped it into his lap. His hot weather uniform was nearly wet through with sweat, from working in the jungle-like climate of the Speakers' ship. He clapped Cheetah on the shoulder, winced only a little when the big alien pulled him in for a hug. When Cheetah finally let him go he continued, "That's the 'currency' he was talkin' about—payin' us for workin' on his ship, I guess."

Cheetah had his baseball-sized eyes glued to the small readout screen of Trip's modified UT; now he fluttered his fingers in a vigorous nod and started signing. "True, oh Glorious Same-Same. Joyous Currency is for joyous Transaction." The UT was translating his signs as speech; it sounded dull and robotic, but it saved the humans having to look at a tiny screen every time they needed to communicate. Cheetah gestured at the shiny fruit, piling up above the rim of each of the cylinders. "You eat, Glorious Same-Same Shipheart?"

Jon glanced at Trip, who shrugged.

"It scanned okay," Trip said. "Seems to be perfectly edible for humans."

"This is very kind of you, Cheetah," Jon said to the Speaker, "but you don't have to do this—helping people is one of the reasons we're out here. We don't expect payment."

There was another round of finger fluttering as Cheetah showed his understanding. "Currency not for Starjoy," he signed to them, "joyous Currency is for joyous Same-Same." He blinked his big eyes at Jon and grinned, stretching his mouth in a horrifying rictus of blunt teeth. "Accept fruit?"

"You mean, this is a gift?" Trip asked.

Cheetah spent a long time reading the translation on the tiny UT screen. This time when his fingers fluttered it was slower, almost hesitant. "Yes," Cheetah signed, "Currency is Gift. For Same-Same. Same-Same Softhair."

Trip blinked. He and Jon looked at each other and grinned.

"Our lieutenant seems to be pretty popular," Jon said.

"Well, he was the one who mostly figured out their language the last time," Trip said. He chuckled, "never guessed he'd be gettin' an alien fruit basket though—let alone two of 'em."

"Same-Same Shipheart accept fruit?" Cheetah asked again, gesturing at Jon.

Jon frowned at the small, shiny blue-green spheres. They looked a bit like lemons, but with thinner skin. He picked one up, feeling its texture. It was smooth, slightly resilient, reminding him of an apple. "Might as well," he said, "if it will please our guests." He grinned again, tossing one to Trip. "I doubt Malcolm will mind."

Trip laughed, catching the small fruit. "I'm sure he'll be able to spare a couple," he said. He put the fruit to his nose and sniffed. "Smells kinda like melon," he said.

Jon took a bite, then nodded appreciatively. "It's good. Tastes kind of like melon, too," he said. "I'll bet Chef could find a lot of uses for these."

Trip nodded in agreement as he chewed and swallowed. "Think we could get Malc to share?"

All the while Cheetah was watching the two men closely, looking from one to the other. When Trip swallowed the last bite the alien leapt to his feet in obvious exhilaration. He grabbed Trip under the arms and hauled him up into a tight hug. Jon could only watch in astonishment as the big, bright blue Speaker began whirling Trip around with him.

"Whoa!" Trip tried to push himself out of Cheetah's arms, "hey, c'mon! C'mon! CHEETAH!" Cheetah finally let him go, and he stumbled backwards.

Jon grabbed him by the arm, looked at him with a mixture of amusement and concern. "You okay?"

"Just m'pride," Trip said. His eyes were still on Cheetah, who was doing some kind of happy dance in the corridor. The deck vibrated with each of the alien's ringing footfalls. "Guess he really wanted us to try the fruit, huh?"

"Looks like it," Jon said.

Trip rubbed the back of his neck; Cheetah was still dancing. The UT had been left on the floor, and neither man wanted to reach for it for fear of Cheetah accidentally clobbering him, so they couldn't tell what the alien was saying, but Cheetah's gestures were all big and expansive, obviously happy ones. "Sure are a hospitable species."

* * *

Bagheera—Malcolm knew full well it had never been a primate's name, but it seemed to suit the alien anyway—wouldn't stop looking at Stephanie Cormack, one of the ensigns assigned to security. The three of them, Malcolm, Stephanie and Bagheera, were nearly knee-deep in cords and various tubing, trying to replace the broken engine parts.

"Is that normal, Sir?" Stephanie asked Malcolm. She was speaking quietly, glancing casually over her shoulder then quickly away from the huge black eyes. "I mean: did Cheetah stare at you and Commander Tucker all the time like that?"

"Not that I recall," Malcolm said. He wiped his forehead with his sleeve, then his face. It was dreadfully hot and humid on the Speakers' ship. "Cheetah mostly left us alone, actually, but they had a different agenda at the time."

"Oh," Stephanie said. She turned her face to wipe it in the crook of her arm, then glanced up at Bagheera again and looked quickly away. "She's freaking me out."

"I gather, Ensign," Malcolm said. He studied the readout on his scanner, then tucked it back into a pocket and bent forward and began prying at a dented panel cover. He gave Stephanie a sly smile. "It's possible she finds you attractive."

"Ha-ha." Stephanie rolled her eyes. "It's just damn creepy."

Malcolm looked at her, eyebrows raised. "I brought you along because you said you wanted to meet some aliens for once," he said, "These are aliens: You can't expect everyone to act like they do in Vancouver."

Stephanie winked at him, "You, obviously, haven't been to Vancouver." Malcolm held his hand out and she handed him the tool she was holding, then bent to retrieve a laser-saw out of their silver toolkit. "I mean, don't get me wrong," she continued, sorting through the various lasers to find the one she wanted, "I really appreciate you bringing me, but when you said the Speakers were 'friendly,' I never figured they'd be right in my fa-!" She had straightened up, still talking; Bagheera was standing right in front of her, barely centimeters between them.

"Hey!" Stephanie cried, half from anger and half from surprise, "Watch it!" She took a step back, caught her heel on one of the twists of tubing and fell backwards. Malcolm reached for her, but Bagheera caught her first, both huge, three-fingered hands wrapped around the ensign's shoulders.

Bagheera unceremoniously hauled Stephanie upright, only to undo Stephanie's braid and start threading her fingers through her curly blond hair, signing with her other hand.

"What's she saying?" Stephanie hissed at Malcolm, "What's she want with my hair?"

"Relax, Ensign," Malcolm said, voice deceptively mild, "she could probably tear your head off without much effort; don't rile her." He slowly pulled his UT out of another pocket and held the tiny camera on Bagheera's waving hand.

"Prettyhair," Bagheera was saying, "Prettyhair, round nicecolor." Her words came through the UT sounding mechanical. The Speaker looked at Malcolm, large black eyes imploring. "Can keep Prettyhair? Prettyhair stay?"

Malcolm blinked. "It appears Bagheera here would like to keep you."

"I kind of got that already," Stephanie said tightly. She winced as the alien pulled a little at her hair—both Bagheera's hands were fluttering with happiness. "Could you let her know I'm not Ensign Barbie?"

Malcolm made the gesture they'd been taught for the Speaker's name, and Bagheera looked at him curiously, hands still fluttering. "You can't keep Stephanie," Malcolm said distinctly and clearly into the UT, "we need her on the ship—she is a very important member of our crew."

Bagheera paid close attention to the small UT screen, with Malcolm holding it where she could read it easily. The Speaker's hand not fluttering in the thick curls of Stephanie's hair began moving again. "Polite request? Polite request keep Prettyroundhair nicecolor? Make joyous Currency Transaction?"

Malcolm smiled. "I'm sorry, but no. The ensign is not for sale." He used his free hand to gently pull Bagheera's fingers away from Stephanie's head.

Baheera pouted, but dropped her hands obediently to her sides. She turned her back on the two humans and leaned against the engines, making soft hooting noises of despair.

Malcolm looked at Stephanie. "I think you broke her heart."

Before Stephanie could answer they were both startled by the sound of running, and the loud noise of Speaker palms slapping against the bars they used to swing hand-over-hand along their ship's ceiling. The two humans and the Speaker whirled to see Jon and Trip chasing after Cheetah.

Cheetah let go from the last bar and dropped the full five meters to the deck, which reverberated wildly. "Softhair!" He signed. He headed straight for Malcolm, arms wide.

Stephanie automatically moved in front of the lieutenant, putting her body between him and the alien. Cheetah only stopped for a second. He grinned terrifyingly, then gave Stephanie the traditional Speaker greeting: by poking his first finger into the center of her forehead.

Stephanie's head snapped back, followed soon by the rest of her body. Malcolm caught her before she was completely upended, lowering her carefully to the deck.

"Cheetah!" Trip shouted, finally catching up to the Speaker, "y'have to do that _gently_ , remember? _Gently_!" He turned to Malcolm and Stephanie while Cheetah was squinting at the UT translation. The device was now on the deck, where Malcolm had just dropped it in his lunge for the ensign. "She okay?"

"I think so," Malcolm replied. "Stephanie," he said to the softly groaning security ensign, "Stephanie, are you all right?"

"Do I hafta go to school today, Daddy?" Stephanie moaned, "my head hurts."

"Right," Trip said, "sick bay it is." He started helping Malcolm get Stephanie to her feet.

"Oh, Apologies!" Cheetah signed, black eyes expressive with misery, "Much Sadness!"

"It's all right," Jon said, holding his own UT so Cheetah could see the readout, "it was an accident; we understand." He moved aside to let Trip and Malcolm support the woozy Stephanie as they stepped over and around the strewn engine parts.

"Ooh..." Stephanie swayed a little between the two men, giggling. "Someone get the designation of that shuttle pod? I think I've had too many virgin mai-tais." There was the purple start of a fingertip-shaped bruise forming on her forehead.

Jon smiled wanly at Cheetah. "I'm sure she'll be fine."

Both Cheetah and Bagheera were hooting in distress, purple faces expressive with misery. "Apologies and Sadness!" Cheetah signed again, "to have hurt Softhair friend. Much Apologies!"

"It's okay," Jon soothed, "she'll be fine. We're just taking her back to our ship, and—"

Cheetah was concentrating on the readout of Jon's UT as the captain spoke. Now his eyes opened wide in shock. "Softhair is Leaving?" He bounded forward, crushing engine pieces under his massive feet, and grabbed Malcolm around the arm. His free hand repeated the gesture of negation over and over. "Shipheart accept joyous Currency Transaction. Glorious Same-Same keep Glorious Softhair Same-Same!"

Trip and Jon looked at each other.

"What?" asked Jon.

"Uh-oh," Trip said.

Malcolm looked at the both of them over Stephanie's head. "Why have I just been seized by a gibbon?"

Trip swallowed. "Uh, Malcolm..." he began, "I think the Cap'n and I might'a misunderstood something."

Malcolm's eyes narrowed. "Misunderstood _what_ , exactly?"

"Cheetah," Jon began carefully, holding his UT up for the Speaker again, "that fruit you gave us...what, exactly, does it have to do with Softhair?"

Cheetah's free hand whipped through a series of gestures. "Fruit joyous Currency Transaction. Glorious Same-Same keep Glorious Softhair Same-Same."

There was a pause while Jon, Trip and Malcolm listened to the translation. Stephanie giggled softly to herself.

"Captain," Malcolm said slowly, "did you and the Commander just trade me to the Speakers?"

Trip rubbed the back of his head. "Maybe...?"

"Bloody hell!" Malcolm exclaimed, "you traded me to Cheetah, didn't you? You've just sold me to a bloody blue monkey!"

"Hang on, Malcolm," Jon put his hand up to stop Malcolm's outburst. He reached into his sleeve pocket for his communicator. "Trip, can you get Stephanie to sick bay on your own?" When Trip nodded Jon turned his attention to Malcolm. "Malcolm, let Stephanie go."

Malcolm carefully stepped away from the ensign, letting Trip take most of her weight. The instant his hands were free Cheetah pulled the lieutenant into a bear hug, rocking side-to-side and quietly hooting. Malcolm glowered hot death at Trip but said nothing.

"Don't worry, Malcolm," Jon said, "we'll get to the bottom of this." He spoke into his communicator: "Hoshi, I'm in the Speaker's engine room. I need you down here on the double. Bring the largest UT with a screen you can get your hands on."

He folded the communicator and slid it back into his pocket as soon as Hoshi had given her affirmative, nodding at Stephanie and Trip. The ensign was still groggy, but standing more steadily with the commander's help. "Get her to sick bay then come right back here."

"Yessir," Trip said. The Speakers and remaining humans watched as he gently half-led, half-carried Stephanie out of the alien's ship and back into _Enterprise_.

Malcolm turned to look at Jon as soon as Trip was out of sight. It was hard to move anything besides his head because Cheetah was still swaying with him. "I would appreciate it, sir," he said as officiously as possible, "if you might tell me exactly how I ended up as a commodity."

Jon raked his fingers through his hair, looking embarrassed. "It's kind of complicated."

Malcolm glanced pointedly at the happily swaying, hooting Cheetah. "I believe we have the time."

* * *

"So," Malcolm said, staring pointedly at Jon and Trip, "it's true: Cheetah offered you fruit in trade for myself. You each ate some, and now I have to spend the rest of my life in humidity worse than summer in Malaysia, surrounded by furry blue monkeys."

"I thought they were 'lesser apes," Trip muttered.

Jon threw him a dark glance and the commander shut up immediately. "We honestly didn't know that was what the fruit was for at the time," he explained, "we thought the Speakers were giving a gift. For you."

"It was _for_ me, all right," Malcolm snarked.

"Please, Captain, Lieutenant," Hoshi said, voice placating. "We're not going to get anywhere if we just keep arguing with each other." The humans, as well as a number of Speakers, were sitting in a circle on the floor of one of _Enterprise_ 's lounges, one of the few places on ship able to accommodate all of them. All the Speakers were sitting on one side of the circle, the large UT screen facing them. They all read intently as the humans spoke.

Cheetah began signing again. "Starheart _not_ accept joyous Currency Transaction? Take fruit, eat fruit; Speakers keep Same-Same Softhair."

"Apparently, Captain," Hoshi explained, "when you and the commander ate some of the fruit, that meant you were agreeing to take it in trade. For Lieutenant Reed."

"You _know_ these people call me Softhair," Malcolm said to Trip, "how on Earth could you have thought that it was a gift when they were talking about 'currency'? Weren't you paying attention?"

"Well, excuse us for not bein' as persnickety as certain heads o' security, Malc, but how were we t'know that 'currency' meant the same thing t'them as it does t'us?" Trip gestured at the small group of blue-furred aliens. "These folk call engines 'baby birds!'"

"They called the access to the anti-matter intake a 'baby bird,'" Malcolm snarled back, " _engines_ are 'Starjoys,' which only proves that—"

"Malcolm, Trip," Jon's voice was heavy with warning. "I know you're both upset about this misunderstanding, but snipping at each other isn't going to help solve it. And yes," he added when Trip looked at him askance, "I fully realize that I'm just as much to blame for this as anyone. Hoshi," he turned his attention to the ensign, "can our guest understand that we truly thought the fruit was a gift, not an exchange for Malcolm?"

"I'll try, sir." Hoshi said. She began to sign, slowly and awkwardly in comparison to the rapid fluidity of the Speakers, but all of the aliens began fluttering their fingers in obvious comprehension.

"Glorious Same-Same not want fruit," Cheetah signed. His movements were jerky with his frustration. "But Glorious Same-Same _eat_ Currency. _Accept_ joyous Transaction." He signed with finality, "Speakers keep Softhair."

Hoshi looked at Jon. "I think this is a real case of 'caveat emptor,' Captain," she said."

"Y'mean, 'you break it, you bought it, buddy'?" Trip asked. He turned sharply to Jon, expression concerned. "Hey—we're not really goin' t'have t'give up Malcolm, are we?"

"Keep your cool, Trip," Jon said, though his tone belied his calm demeanor, "Hoshi, there has to be a way out of this that we can all agree on."

"I'm not going to end up like Persephone," Malcolm said darkly, "being shared between the Speakers and _Enterprise_." He was sitting next to Cheetah, since the big alien refused to let go of him. The Speaker hooted softly as he ran his fingers over and over through Malcolm's hair. Malcolm had the self-possession not to wince.

"Quiet, Malcolm," Jon ordered, "Hoshi needs to think."

Hoshi cast a small, grateful smile at her captain, then began signing again. The Speakers watched her, totally absorbed in her careful movements. When she had finished, they began signing much more quickly amongst themselves.

Finally Cheetah turned back to Hoshi. He made a distressed hooting noise and pulled Malcolm into a crushing, one-armed embrace, signing with his free hand. "Not to negate Transaction, Most Polite Request? Give more joyous Currency? Can keep Softhair? Polite Request? Most Polite Request, Thanks and Love?" came as the UT's tinny translation.

Hoshi looked worriedly at Jon. "He doesn't want to cancel the deal. He really wants Malcolm."

"Hoshi," Malcolm's voice sounded strangled, "flattered though I am, could you please let our guests know I'm not actually for sale?"

Hoshi went through another series of signs. Cheetah hooted sadly as he watched, then finally sagged, pouting. But he let Malcolm scramble away from him, and gave a single gesture: "Accept."

"Thank God," Hoshi nearly sagged in relief.

"What?" Malcolm asked, voice slightly panicked, "what did you agree to?"

"In a minute," Hoshi said. She looked at Trip. "Commander," she said, "go to the galley and get two oranges. Nice big ones."

Trip just gaped at her.

"Do it, Trip," Jon said.

"Yessir," Trip got quickly to his feet. He glanced anxiously at Malcolm then back to his captain. "Don't let 'em take him anywhere."

"We won't," Jon said, "but hurry up."

Malcolm watched Trip leave, then looked quizzically at Hoshi. "Surely they'll think I'm worth more than just two oranges?"

Hoshi rolled her eyes. "Don't flatter yourself, Lieutenant-we're just replacing the fruit the commander and the captain ate; Cheetah's letting us negate the transaction."

"Oh," Malcolm said, subdued. "Of course."

Jon looked at him, smiling. "Looks like we won't have to sue for joint custody after all."

* * *

Hours later, 'Softhair' restored to _Enterprise_ and the Speaker's engine repairs well underway, Trip and Malcolm were sitting together on the couch in Trip's quarters. Malcolm was snuggled against Trip's side; Trip's arm was casually thrown over him.

"I'm glad Stephanie's gonna be all right," Trip said, "I shoulda' reminded Cheetah earlier that our skulls aren't as thick as theirs."

"No harm done, Trip," Malcolm replied, "Stephanie was already laughing about it when I went to visit her. But I don't think she'll be quite so eager to come along the next time we get asked to do repair work."

"'Don't blame her," Trip chuckled, "I kinda hope we don't see the Speakers again too soon myself. They're a little too...enthusiastic."

Malcolm laughed. "Famous last words." He turned his head so he could plant a little kiss on Trip's jaw. "I'm sorry I was so short with you."

"Ah, it's okay," Trip pulled Malcolm to him in a hug, "for a minute there I was pretty worried m'self. I was havin' visions of you gettin' whisked off by blue monkeys, and I'd never see you again."

Malcolm threaded his fingers through the hand Trip held against his stomach. "That's so sweet." He sighed. "I must admit, though, I was a little disappointed."

"Yeah?" Trip asked, "with what?"

"Well," Malcolm made himself more comfortable against the commander, "I'd always imagined I'd be worth more in trade than two bushels of fruit."

Trip laughed out loud. "It was really _good_ fruit, though. It tasted like melons."

"I suppose," Malcolm said dismissively, "but I would have preferred it if they'd given you force shield specifications, perhaps, or at least another set of phase cannons."

"I'll be sure t'let the captain know that," Trip said, "the next time we meet up with a species with better weapons."

"I'm glad," Malcolm said in mock seriousness, "you know how persnickety I can get about these things."

"Oh yeah," Trip nodded, rubbing his cheek against Malcolm's temple, "that's my Malcolm—all soft-haired and persnickety as hell." He pulled Malcolm even closer. "Wouldn't have it any other way."


End file.
